


Harsh Truths

by TheseWordsAreMyOwn



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-27 03:29:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18730798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseWordsAreMyOwn/pseuds/TheseWordsAreMyOwn
Summary: While on the way to Kings Landing, the Hound gives Arya a few harsh truths about what she left behind(**NOTE: Once again, a one shot turns into multiple chapters...)





	1. Chapter 1

Arya and the Hound sat opposite each other, a crackling fire between them as they ate a rabbit Arya had caught an hour before.  They ate in silence, much like their journey had been so far.

The hound gnawed on a leg, watching Arya intently, who was doing her best to ignore him.

The hound sighed.  “Alright, out with it.  What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Arya finally met his gaze.  “There’s nothing wrong.”

“You’re too quiet.”

“I thought you like it silent.  It’s all you wanted last time we travelled together.”

“Aye but there’s silent and then there’s sulking.”

“I’m not sulking!”

“You fucking are!”  The Hound gave her a level stare.  “If I have to travel all the way to Kings Landing with you, I don’t want to put up with your damn sulking.  So why in seven hells are you running away?”

“I’m _not_ running away,” Arya argued, and suddenly she felt like she had gone back four years, bickering with the Hound on the road once again.  “Like I said, I have unfinished business in Kings Landing.”

“Your list I know.  Except your brother is currently marching south to go to the same location – you could have easily gone with him, and instead you chose to leave with me. So again, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Arya remained silent for several minutes, trying to stare down the Hound, but his gaze was unrelenting.  Breaking eye contact, she stared down at the fire.  “Gendry proposed.”

“And I’m assuming you said no?”  Arya nodded.  “Why the fuck did you do that?  You love him don’t you?”

Arya glared at him.  “How would you know?  What would you know about love?”

“Not much personally but I know what I see.  You can act the cold bitch all you like but any idiot with eyes can see the way you look at him.  So again, why the fuck did you say no?”

“He wants me to be his lady,” Arya snapped.  “I’m not a lady – I’ve never wanted to be a lady.  Sitting by the fire making clothes, producing a dozen babies while my husband goes off doing who knows what and I’m trapped in a castle.  That was always Sansa’s dream, not mine.”

“And you think that he would do that to you?  And I thought you were smart, girl.  That boy worships the ground you bloody walk on – do you _really_ think that he wouldn’t let you do whatever the fuck you wanted?!?”

“I don’t want to be a lady,” Arya repeated stubbornly.

“And you think he wanted to be a lord?  The queen just sprung it on him in front of everyone and didn’t exactly allow him to refuse.  What, you’d prefer it if he proposed back when he was a no named bastard?  I can tell you right now that he never would have done that.”

“How would you bloody know?”

 “Oh for fucks sake!  You’ve travelled all over Westeros and you still don’t know how this country works?”  The Hound sighed in exasperation.  “Let me teach you a lesson then – in this world, bastards are the lowest of the low.  No name, nothing to inherit.  You thought your brother had it bad?  He was a fucking high born, a Stark, just like you are whether you like it or not.  I’ve been around enough nobles in my life to know that _none_ of them would have accepted the marriage between a highborn lady and a lowborn bastard.  Gendry _knew_ that, and he never would have done that to you.  And then the queen goes and bloody legitimizes him and suddenly he’s worthy enough for you.”

“He was always worthy,” Arya insisted.

“Aye to you – not to _them_.  How many times do I have to tell you girl?”  The Hound pointed a rabbit leg at her.  “Gendry would have wanted to do right by you – he loves you.  So first thing after being made lord, instead of staying to get drunk with everyone else, he disappears – I’m guessing to find you.”  The Hound shook his head.  “I bet you ripped his heart out.”

“Better I do it now rather than risk losing me later,” Arya said.

“When you kill Cersei?  Why do you have to do it anyway?  Your brother and the queen are heading to Kings Landing now – chances are the queen is going to die because I don’t see her giving up her crown without a fight.  Why does it matter if you’re the one to do it?  Dead is dead – you’ll have your revenge.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Wouldn’t I?  If someone else beat me to killing my brother I wouldn’t give a shit – as long as he’s gone, I’ll be happy.”  He eyed her suspiciously.  “I’m starting to think you _want_ to die.”

“I’m done talking,” Arya said shortly, throwing the bones of her meal into the fire and laying down, rolling away with her back to the Hound.

“Fine with me,” he muttered as he did the same.  “It’s your fucking life.”

Ayra lay there, trying to purge the Hound’s voice that was ringing in her head.  She prepared to do her nightly ritual of reciting her list of names (there were only two now, so it didn’t take long) but found she couldn’t.  Her tongue felt thick in her mouth and she swallowed hard.  Deciding to forgo his list for once, she closed her eyes.

Try as she might, she couldn’t stop the single tear from sliding down her cheek.


	2. The Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so once again a one shot sprang a few ideas so I'm adding a bit more. There will be one more final chapter after this one.

“I don’t want to die.”

The Hound turned in his saddle to look at Arya who was riding beside him, head resolutely faced forward.

“It’s just that I’m not sure I know how to live anymore.”

“It’s easy,” the Hound said.  “Don’t fucking die.”

Arya laughed dryly.  “That’s not what I meant.”

The Hound watched Arya for a few moments and when it looked like she wasn’t going to say anymore he sighed in frustration.  “Well are you going to fucking elaborate?”

Arya threw a short glare at him but decided to answer him anyway.  “Ever since my father died, death has been my life, my focus.  I created my list, learnt all that I could from you, went to Braavos to learn how to become an assassin.  I learned to close myself off, become the No One the Faceless Men taught me to be so that I could become the best killer that I could be.  My sole focus for so long has been getting revenge on all those who have wronged me, my family, my friends.  My list has consumed my life for so long.  I now have only two names left, and now that I am so close to the end, I am starting to wonder – what do I do once it’s all over?”

The Hound watched Arya carefully.  “You could go home,” he said, surprisingly softly.

Arya shook her head.  “I can’t.  Not anymore.  As much as I love my siblings, Winterfell has changed too much – it doesn’t feel like home anymore.”

“It can be rebuilt –”

“That’s not what I meant,” Arya said with a sad smile.  “I thought that coming home would make everything better.  But as soon as I arrived in Winterfell, while I was happy to be home at first I soon realised that everything felt… wrong.  I walked through the halls, and instead of the living, all I could see were the dead.  I would walk into my father’s solar, and see him sitting at his desk, reading; my mother was by the fire, repairing yet another one of my dresses; Robb and Theon sparring in the courtyard while Rickon watched.  Winterfell is full of ghosts, and no matter where I turned I was reminded of what I have lost.  And then the Night King came and it filled with more ghosts, more friends that I had lost.  And I would wake up struggling to breathe, because I could still feel his fingers around my neck.”  Arya unconsciously rubbed her throat.  “I couldn’t stay anymore and I can’t go back.  There are too many memories.”

The Hound nodded slowly.  “I can understand that.”  They rode in silence for a few minutes before the Hound spoke again.   “Maybe what you need is to find a new home – some place where you can make new memories.”

Arya looked at him suspiciously.  “You wouldn’t happen to be talking about Gendry again?”

He shrugged.  “If that’s what you want then yes.”

“What about you?  Where will you go once this is all over?  Will you find a home?”

There was a slow, sad shake of the head.  “Tried that once.  Didn’t exactly work out the best.”  He thought sadly of that small, peaceful village he had grown attached to before those rogues from the Brotherhood and destroyed them all.  He sighed.  “Take it from a – what is it you called me?  A miserable old shit?  Living the way I do?  It’s not a happy life.”  He reached over to grab Arya’s reins and stopped both of their horses.  He looked deep into her eyes.  “Despite what you may think girl, you deserve better than that.  Don’t become me.”

He held her gaze for a few more moments before he let go of the reins, and urging his horse forward, he continued on the path towards Kings Landing.

Pausing a moment to let his words sink in, Arya soon followed.

 

                                                                                                ******

 

Arya had fully intended on killing Cersei.  She had been so close – had crept into Kings Landing, amid all of the chaos of the war raging outside, found where the queen had locked herself away and she had been almost there…

…and then off in the distance, she saw the Hound, battling his brother.  And he was struggling.  And before she could even comprehend what was happening, she found that she had turned her back on Cersei and was sprinting towards them.

She was too late.  She came up short when she saw the Mountain’s sword come out through his brother’s back.  That didn’t stop the Hound.  As the sword was pulled out of him he took one mighty swing and watched as his brother’s head tumbled from his shoulders.  Then and only then did he fall to the floor.

Arya raced forward and fell to her knees beside him.

“I got mine,” the Hound laughed, blood spitting from his mouth as he recognised the face of the person hovering over him.  “Did you get yours?”

Arya shook her head, and the horrible, all too familiar feeling of grief began to well up inside her.  “No.  She’s someone else’s problem now.”

The dying man nodded in satisfaction.  “Good.”  He looked her squarely in the eyes.  “I want you to promise that you’ll do something for me.  Promise me that you will live.  Leave this place behind, say goodbye to that God of Death of yours and live a long, happy life.  Whether it’s with your blacksmith, your family or by yourself: I want you to _live_.”

Arya nodded, fighting back tears.  Oh the irony; if she could tell her 11 year old self that she would end up here, by the side of the man who had killed her friend, who she had ultimately forgiven, removed from her list and somewhere along the way began to think of him as a friend, and was now grieving as he lay dying in front of her… well she was sure that she would have punched her older self in the gut and told her she was a liar.

“I promise,” she swore.

The Hound smiled, satisfied.  His hand reached down, and Arya felt something pressed into her hand.  It was a dagger.  He wrapped both of his hands around hers, trapping the dagger in place.

“I asked you once before to kill me, and you didn’t.  This isn’t like last time – there’s no coming back from this for me.  So I’m asking you one last time – kill me.  Please?”

Arya swallowed hard and then nodded slowly, moving the dagger over his heart, his hands still around hers.

“Thank you,” she whispered.  “For everything.”

The Hound smiled – a genuine, soft smile, as he gazed up at Arya with affection, a lone tear leaking from the side of his eye.  “Goodbye little wolf.  Don’t forget your promise.”

He let out one last gasp as Arya slid the knife into his body.  Her training as an assassin had taught her well and she knew where to strike for a quick death, and within seconds he was gone.

Pulling out the knife, Arya gently laid his hands on his chest then leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

And for the first time in the longest time, she cried.


	3. Storm's End

Gendry strode through Storm’s End, hoping he was going in the right direction.  The castle was huge and he didn’t want to embarrass himself by having it known that Lord Baratheon needed to ask how to get around his own castle.

He had only been in Storm’s End for a few weeks and he had to admit it was… nice.  The people seemed friendly enough (turns out a bastard had founded the Baratheon line so they didn’t really mind about his humble origins) and Davos had come with him so he had a friendly face who could help him when needed.

And so far that had been a lot.  He knew being a lord was going to take a lot of work but it was even harder than he thought – besides the general day to day things that were required of him, there was so much he needed to catch up on.  He was starting to think Arya was wrong – he wasn’t going to make a wonderful lord at all.  Not any time soon any way.

Arya.  Try as he might, he could not get her out of his head.  How could he?  He loved her.  He had overheard some say that they had seen her in Kings Landing, but after all of the carnage had cleared from the war he could find no trace of her.  They did find the Hound’s body though, and Gendry had taken him back to Storm’s End to be buried with honours – he knew that he had done a lot to keep the woman he loved alive over the years, and he figured it was the least he could do.

Turning a few more corners, Gendry was relieved when he finally came across his intended destination – the forge.  He may have a fancy title now (and he was still getting used to being referred to as Lord Baratheon) but the forge was where he was comfortable.  He may not know anything about running a castle, but he knew how to make steel sing – he was _good_ at it.  So whenever he needed some time to think, he would try and make his way to the forge.

The forge was thankfully empty, so he stripped off his outer layers (Davos would have a _fit_ if he came back with scorch marks all over his fancy clothes) and tied on a leather apron, found a hammer and a good piece of steel and began to work.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been working when he felt something that he hadn’t felt since Winterfell – an inkling that he was being watched.  Turning slowly, he froze when stepping out of the shadows was the one person he thought he would never see again.

“Arya,” he breathed.

She looked different.  She still held herself upright, that scar from the battle with the dead still on her forehead, but there was just something off about her demeanour.  Instead of her usual stoic calm she looked… nervous.

“I figured you would come here,” she said quietly, stepping forward.  “This is always where you felt at home.”

Gendry opened his mouth to speak but found that he couldn’t get any words out.  He was dumbstruck, watching the woman he loved most in the world walk slowly towards him.

“Back in Winterfell, you asked me a question,” she started.

“Look, about that,” Gendry interrupted.  “I shouldn’t have done that.  I had just been made a lord, I was overwhelmed and all I could think about was how much I love you, and it just spilled out.”

Arya raised an eyebrow.  “So are you saying you _don’t_ want to marry me?”

Gendry swallowed.  “I still want to marry you.  But that was the wrong time to ask – I should have waited.”

Arya nodded.  “You’re right.  You should have waited.  But I stand by what I said – I never wanted to be a lady.”

Gendry felt the small sliver of hope that had been building in his heart crumble.  “Then why are you here?” he asked, a hint of bitterness and hurt laced in his voice.

“Because I don’t want to be _a_ lady.”  She stopped just a few steps away from him.  “I want to be _your_ lady.  I love you Gendry and I can’t imagine living in this stupid world without you.  So be mine.”

Echoing his actions back in Winterfell, Arya slowly dropped to one knee.  “I am asking you, Lord Gendry Baratheon, to be my husband.  Be my lord, and I will be your lady.”

Gendry stepped forward and sunk to his knees in front of Arya, his hands cupping her face.  He could see the fear in her eyes, fear that he would reject her as she had him.  He leaned forward and gently kissed her with a long lingering kiss.  He pulled away and looked into her eyes.

“You wouldn’t be my lady.”  He paused for a moment, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face. 

“You’d be my family.”

 

                                                                                                *******

 

Arya stood on the soft sand, looking out over the ocean.  Her feet were bare, but Needle remained at her hip.  She hadn’t had to use it in a long time, but it made her feel better knowing that it was near.  Especially now that she had so much more to protect.

“Hey!  That’s not playing fair young lady!”

Arya smiled as she watched her daughter fling herself at a protesting Davos, tackling him to the ground, her little brother joining in to pile on top of the smiling Knight.  The man had truly been a blessing – not only a loyal friend and father figure to Gendry (and subsequent adoptive grandfather to his children), but an invaluable advisor to both Gendry and herself as they navigated being Lord and Lady of Storm’s End.  Arya may have been born a lady, but she had left Winterfell and ripped from her family at a young age – in truth she had little more idea how to run a castle as Gendry did.  Thankfully Arya had not only Davos but Sansa to help guide her, who would send her advice via raven whenever Arya asked.

Turning away from her family for a moment, she looked back out over the ocean.  There was to be a grand feast today, celebrating 10 years to the day since the end of what people called the Last War (at least, they hoped it was).  10 years of peace in Westeros was the longest period of peace the country had known in a while and everyone wanted to show their gratitude (by getting ridiculously drunk Arya suspected).

For Arya, all she remembered was it was the day that she had lost one of the few treasured friends she had in her life.  She and the Hound certainly didn’t have the most conventional friendship, but a friendship it was, and she treasured the lessons he taught her – he had played a large part in helping her survive.  And as the years passed, and she grew older and wiser, she appreciated more and more all that he had done for her.

Smiling, she rubbed her hands over her rounded stomach, feeling the child within her move around restlessly – not even born yet and she could feel that the babe shared her wild spirit.  She had asked Gendry that if it was a boy, if they could name him Sandor.  Gendry had smiled, kissed her belly and told her that it would be a strong name for the next Baratheon.

As if thinking of her husband had magically conjured him, she could hear his footsteps approach from behind, and a few seconds later a pair of strong arms would their way around her from behind as he dropped a light kiss on the side of her neck.  Arya giggled as the thick beard he now wore tickled her.  With it she could now very clearly see the resemblance to his father, except Gendry remained lean and strong.  Unlike Robert, who would spend his spare time drinking and whoring, whenever Gendry had a moment of spare time away from his lordly duties or his role as devoted husband and father to his loving wife and wonderful children, he could be found in the forge (usually making some form of new weapon for said wife – you can never have enough knives Arya always joked).

“Milady,” Gendry greeted, and she could feel his smile against her neck.

“My lord,” she replied with a grin, craning her neck around so that she could see his face.  His grin grew wider and he drew closer and kissed her lovingly.  When he pulled away, the smile was back on his face. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“Not much.  Just a promise that I made a long time ago – one that I’ve managed to keep.”

Arya turned back to the ocean and closed her eyes, allowing herself to feel everything – the warm sun on her face, the smell of the salt water, the sound of her children’s laughter nearby and the strong, steady warmth of her husband’s arms cradling the new child that was growing inside of her.  She leaned back against Gendry with a content smile.

“I’m living.”


End file.
